


Agape | A Six of Crows short story

by stardustsroses



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, M/M, includes so much fluff you may have to go to the dentist afterwards ngl, parents! kanej, parents! wesper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 17:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsroses/pseuds/stardustsroses
Summary: A couple of years down the line, Jesper and Wylan adopt a ravkan baby and name him Alfred. Kaz and Inej have a daughter and name her after a saint - Lizabeta. This is a short story about the two children, and how they grow up to become inseparable partners, with a few insights from Wesper and Kanej and their lives post-Crooked Kingdom.





	Agape | A Six of Crows short story

YEARS EARLIER

He doesn’t recall life without her smile in it, or the image of the sun rays swimming in her brown eyes and making them look like melted gold. He doesn’t recall life without the witty replies and the quick tongue. He doesn’t recall life without her.  
He remembers the early days. He remembers the warmth by the fireplace and the smell of pine trees, the soft carpet they used to play in with all kinds of toys he loved and she ignored, because she was either too fascinated by the rain hitting the wide window or simply preferred to jump from couch to couch with the grace of a bird, or balance herself on the wooden chairs before she could even form perfect sentences.  
He remembers his fathers coming to pick him up after a day of laughter and rain-filled joy, and then the terrible ache that made him cry into his papa’s shoulder. The ache of parting with her.   
He didn’t remember, however, the words that followed:  
“Should I feel offended that my own son does not want to come home with his own parents?” It had been Jesper’s voice, with his crooked smile and teasing grey eyes.  
And Kaz from the doorway, who had an arm wrapped around Inej’s waist as if that came as a second nature to him, that responded: “It’s not my fault your kid likes me better than you.”  
“I will shove those words down your mouth.”  
“Try,” came Kaz’s smirking response.  
“Thank you for watching him, Kaz,” Wylan had stepped in, giving his husband a warning look that only earned him one of those cheeky smiles he’d fallen so madly in love with. “Hopefully he wasn’t too much trouble.”  
“Not at all,” Inej had said, her own sleeping daughter in her arms, clinging to her mother’s neck. “Bring him around anytime – it will make this one very happy.”  
And so it was.  
Whenever his parents were out of town for business, there he was. The Rietveld farm became his second home, and he in turn became familiar with the endless paths of maple trees and picking up apples from the highest branches in the autumn time. Whenever his aunt and uncle needed to go to Ketterdam, neither of them were taken along, and so it was her turn to come to his house. And as much as he loved his house, it wasn’t the same. Even if his parents had moved to the village closer to Lij and closer to Kaz and Inej’s farm to get them away from the city’s dangers, he often found himself wishing to be running wildly with her through the woods, exploring the caves and the different bird nests, looking for frogs at the edge of the leaf-covered ponds and see her unbound hair curl around her temples whenever she got too hot from running.  
That’s how life had been for sixteen years.   
And it had been absolutely perfect.  
***  
When Kaz Brekker bought back the farm he grew up in, he changed his name.  
“I want you to have my real name,” he’d said to Inej when she’d asked, clinging to her hands despite the struggle that it still was sometimes. “Not the name of the man Ketterdam created but the boy born in this farm. If you’ll take it.”  
Inej had stared up at the shadowed eyes, and she’d felt herself fall in love with him all over again in that same instant. It hit her like a powerful wave, and it left her heart pounding relentlessly. Flashbacks of the years they’d spent together, of the trips they’d taken, of the good people they’d saved and the terrible ones they’d damned, coursed through her mind. Each memory locked up in her heart, forever to be kept there, forever to be cherished.  
“Are you proposing to me, Kaz?” She’d whispered. “Are you asking me to marry you?”  
Trembling in her arms, he’d whispered right back: “Marry me. Make my name yours.”  
“Yes,” she’d said back, only for him to hear. “Yes.”  
“We can stay here,” his voice had shaken slightly at the edges, as if he’d been about to burst into tears. Inej remembered it so well. It had been such an odd, heart-wrenching sight that she’d begun to cry all on her own because of it. He’d continued, “We can stay in the farm most days. If there’s something…” he’d trailed off, wiping her tears, trying to push back his own. “…an issue, or something, we’ll get to Ketterdam soon enough. And we don’t have to put aside the missions-”  
“Yes, Kaz.”  
“I…I can repair the farm. We can…if you want-” He wouldn’t shut up.  
“Yes,” Inej had said, smiling as brightly as a new-born star. Her arms had wrapped around him, and when his words had failed him, she repeated it: “Yes.”  
“We’ll make it ours,” he’d managed to say, his face buried into her neck, his hands clinging to her for dear life.  
“Yes.”   
And the world had been forever changed.  
That same morning, a few miles away in Ketterdam, Wylan had rolled onto his back as Jesper pestered soft, open mouthed kisses onto his chest, the morning sleepiness making his movements all too tender.  
“I have to get up,” Wylan had protested hopelessly.  
“No, you don’t.”  
“I have classes to teach.”  
“Wylan, it’s Saturday,” Jesper had said, and kissed him.  
The kiss, however, hadn’t lasted long. Jesper had been able to feel Wylan’s body tense underneath his in a way that was not usual nor particularly a sign to carry on. And so he’d pulled away just slightly, his lips a breath away from Wylan’s.  
“What is on your mind, merchling?”  
“Someday you will have to stop calling me that,” Wylan had narrowed his eyes.  
“You love it, though,” Jesper had said, pulling back the curly pieces from Wylan’s forehead. “Tell me.”  
Wylan had simply looked at Jesper, his eyes searching his almost thoughtfully, until the older boy furrowed his eyebrows.  
“Are you attempting to read my mind?” Jesper had scoffed a soft laugh.  
“You’ll find it stupid.”  
“I bet I will,” Jesper had murmured, leaving a playful kiss on Wylan’s cheek. “But I love all the things you say, Wy, even the nonsense.” A kiss on Wylan’s other cheek, just because he could. “Tell me.”  
“Do you…” Wylan had trailed off, attempting to put words to his difficult thoughts.  
“Want breakfast? Why, yes, I do,” Jesper had completed, a smirk spreading itself onto his lips. “But I would like to kiss you more, can I?”  
“Let me think. I can’t think with you doing that,” Wylan had said breathlessly when Jesper’s lips trailed teasing kisses up his neck.  
“You sure do like to be suspenseful, merchling,” Jesper had chuckled.” So, do I what?”  
Wylan’s cheeks had tinted pink against his own accord, and his eyes turned away from Jesper’s momentarily, just so he could stare out the window and make sense of the things he was feeling. There had been so much on his mind as of late, and Wylan hadn’t been able to guess what Jesper’s reaction would be if he’d told him…well, told him what Wylan had wanted to tell him for quite some time.  
“Are you happy here?”  
“I’m happy to be anywhere with you, Wy,” Jesper had said, seemingly distracted by a curl that fell onto Wylan’s eyes.  
Wylan had paused, only for a bit. And then, “Would you ever want to leave the city?”  
“Permanently?” Jesper had asked.  
“Well – maybe? Yes?”  
A heartbeat’s pause. And then Jesper turned his eyes to Wylan’s, and said, “I wouldn’t be against it.”  
“No?”  
“Did you forget where I was born?” Jesper had smiled slightly. “No, I don’t feel attached to Ketterdam. Do you want to get out of here?”  
It was more than that. So much more.  
“I think my mother would do well in the country side,” Wylan had started by saying, sighing softly. “It would do her good, I mean.”  
“And us?”  
Wylan had paused once more. “Well, I- we…if you’d wanted…”  
“I want to.”   
“You- what?”  
Jesper had shaken his head, a smile fighting its way back onto his face. “Why are you so nervous about asking me to move away from the city with you?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Wylan, we’re married,” Jesper had said matter-of-factly, raising a brow. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth, you know that. Did you not hear my vows properly?”  
Wylan had to chuckle, not just at the tone but at Jesper’s tickling, devilish hands on his bare back, making him jolt in the mattress.  
“I’ll go pack my bags right now if you want me to, merchling,” Jesper had said, touching his nose to Wylan’s. “Grisha are needed everywhere these days, and you can still teach.”  
They had looked at each other for a few endless moments, enjoying each other’s warmth in comparison to the chill outside. And then, so slowly, Jesper touched Wylan’s cheek, and said, “Your mother’s not the only reason why you want to move to the countryside, is it?”  
“No,” Wylan had whispered.  
“Tell me what you want, Wy.”  
“I was simply…thinking,” Wylan had muttered, turning his eyes away. “That if we ever decide to…well, to raise children, then Ketterdam’s not the place to do it.”  
Jesper had gone very still and very quiet, but his smile hadn’t changed, nor had the happy glint in his eyes disappeared.   
He had taken Wylan’s hand, and kissed the back of it, his lips lingering even when he’d murmured, “Do you want us to have children, then?”  
“Yes,” Wylan had said.   
“Do you think we’re prepared?”  
“Do you want it?” Wylan had asked instead, squeezing Jesper’s hand. “I want to know that first.”  
Jesper’s smile had widened. “Do I look like I hate the idea?” He then leaned in and touched his lips to Wylan’s with such heart breaking tenderness that it made Wylan’s eyes roll back. When he’d pulled away, Jesper had said, “The world’s changed, Wy. And we changed with it. I think that now’s the time, and I also think that there is nothing else that would make me happier.”  
“I love you.”  
“That’s all you’re going to say?”  
“Yes,” Wylan had smiled, wrapping his arms around his husband to pull him ever so close. “I love you.”  
Jesper had smiled to himself in that embrace, and had proceeded to wrap his own arms around Wylan’s frame. He’d murmured, “I love you.”  
“I don’t even know where we should move to.”  
“When Kaz and Inej come back I’ll ask Kaz to look around for houses in Lij. What do you think?”  
“I think that’s perfect.”  
“And I’ll get to annoy the shit out of him every day by reminding him how close we live to each other, and-“  
Wylan had huffed a laugh. “Jesper.”  
“Merchling,” Jesper had said in the same way, barking out a laugh when he felt Wylan’s playful squeeze at his butt cheeks.  
“I lied,” Jesper whispered then, smiling against Wylan’s ear. “There is something else that would make me quite as happy right about now.”  
And at Wylan’s blushing cheeks, Jesper had pulled them both underneath the covers to keep out the cold, and for the entire morning they both made the rational decision that leaving each other’s arms was just (as Jesper so eloquently put it) – batshit stupid.  
Weeks later, they had welcomed back the Wraith and Dirtyhands in Ketterdam. Not from Lij – but from Ravka.  
Jesper and Wylan saw Kaz first, as he directed the refugees out of the boat. He’d looked thinner to Jesper, but they had both been surprised at just how bright Kaz’s eyes looked. Like he was awake, for the first time in his life.  
“Are you by any chance taking jurda now?” Jesper had said with a welcoming smile, clapping Kaz on the back.  
“What?” Kaz had grumbled out – as nice a greeting as Jesper would get.  
Wylan had watched all the refugees one by one, the solemn faces now filled with hope and suspicion, some with weariness and others with relief. All these people and many more had been saved by his friends over the years, and everytime Wylan came to greet Kaz and Inej by the docks (a tradition they’d made of it) his heart clenched in his chest from both sadness and happiness.   
As the years went by, it got less and less strange to see the man who they called Dirtyhands himself curving down to speak to a refugee girl in a tongue that was not his own, and gently gesturing to the place where she was supposed to go.  
At that very moment, when Wylan had stared at Kaz as he talked to Jesper about their triumphs and defeats in Ravka, he hadn’t been able to help but wonder how things truly did change. In a few days’ time, he and his mother and Jesper would be moving to a new house to start a new life. And Kaz and Inej were to follow.  
Odd, so very odd. Wylan had been overjoyed.  
“Where’s Inej?” Wylan had asked, finding her missing.  
At that, he’d seen the slightest movements in Kaz’s jaw as he’d looked up at the boat. “Inside still,” he’d simply said. “She’ll be with us soon.”  
“Something happened?” Jesper had frowned.  
But before Kaz could’ve answered, Inej had appeared amongst the last of the refugees, and her face had startled both Jesper and Wylan. It hadn’t been the face of the Wraith. The triumph had been completely wiped off her features, and tiredness clung to her eyes and body as she’d moved towards them. The people had dissipated, led by the rest of the crew to safe places. Then they really had gotten to look at her.  
She had carried a baby in her arms.  
Their eyes had instantly turned to Kaz. Dumbly, Jesper had counted the days they’d been gone in his head, hoping to find a reasonable explanation for what he was seeing. The simplest one of all hadn’t even crossed his mind.  
What they saw first was a tuft of bright yellow hair and fair skin, fjerdan traits. And then the wide, open eyes with a mixture of colour that Wylan hadn’t been able describe.  
Inej had opened her mouth to speak, to explain, but no words had come out. Jesper and Wylan had been too stunned to say anything.  
And so it had been Kaz who spoke in a low, grave voice: “She didn’t make it.”  
Inej had simply burst out crying with the silent baby in her arms.  
Jesper had been paralysed. Wylan’s face had turned ash-white. Neither one of them had ever seen the Wraith breakdown like this.  
“Take the baby,” Kaz had simply said, and Wylan had moved first, because Jesper hadn’t been able to.  
Inej had let go, and Kaz had wrapped his arms around her. Neither Jesper nor Wylan had heard the whispered comforting words that Kaz had said to her. Inej had been trembling from head to toe.  
But Wylan could only focus on the little life he’d been holding; the eyes that stared up at him in fascination, in pure wonder. Wylan remembered how well he’d fit in his arms, even though he’d never once held a baby.  
“It rests my heart knowing that she was unconscious for most of it,” Inej had said once they’d all been settled in the Van Eck mansion, her washed hair loose and curling slightly as it dried, somehow making her look younger than she already was. She’d led a cup of tea to her lips and murmured, “In the end there was nothing I…nothing that could be done.”  
Kaz had watched her closely in silence, as if her pain had been his own. And truly – he hadn’t left her side for one moment. Jesper had known these two for years and years, and yet he’d felt as if that had truly been the first time that he’d witnessed Kaz and Inej act so…close. The protectiveness that he’d felt between them, especially as Kaz looked down at her – it was the exact same he’d felt for Wylan.  
“Is there a father?” Wylan had asked softly.  
Inej’s dark gaze and her silence had been answer enough.  
The baby had been taken by one of the boat’s nurses who assured them that he would be well fed and kept calm and happy in her care until they decided what to do. So far, nothing had been decided.  
Inej had murmured, “She left him with no name.”  
Her face had turned away, toward Kaz’s chest.  
“Were there anymore children with him?” Jesper had asked.  
Kaz had given him a pointed look, his eyes prohibiting Jesper from asking any further questions that might send Inej off again, but Jesper pointedly ignored him. Jesper had felt particularly protective of the baby, and he’d wanted to know everything he could.  
She shook her head. “A ten-year-old boy,” Inej had said, looking down at her tea. “But we found his parents later on – they’re reunited now, back in Ravka. They refused to come to Ketterdam.”  
“You were there,” Wylan had said, his tone gentle. “When the baby was born.”  
Inej had nodded solemnly. “I tried to help with what I could. He was born a healthy, bright baby. Rarely cries, though he does have an appetite. The nurse struggled a bit with him on the boat. His mother…she stayed alive for four days after his birth, but she wouldn’t wake. We were hopeful she would make it until we arrived, but today, at dawn…”  
And Jesper had seen Kaz do something he’d never seen Kaz do before. He’d leaned in, without pause or hesitation, and kissed the top of Inej’s head, looking at the window so forcefully that Jesper was positive that there were tears of his own wanting to pour out. Kaz had never once opened that tap, though, and none of them expected him too.  
That night, Wylan had looked at Jesper, right before they fell asleep.  
And Jesper had looked at him right back.  
A silent agreement, a silent decision.  
Jesper had never believed in any gods or saints, but as Wylan had fallen asleep against his chest that night with that new promise of a life hanging between them, of a new life forming in front of their eyes over their heads, he hadn’t been capable of shaking off the feeling that that whole day had been the sign they had been waiting for.  
They had travelled together, much to Kaz’s dismay.  
Inej had noticed something that Wylan and Jesper hadn’t, though. Maybe it was because they had been too distracted by the baby sleeping in their arms or some other reason entirely. But she did. She, alone, saw the glint in Kaz’s eyes as his gaze had deviated for just a fraction of a second to the new-made family right in front of them. The family they’d helped create.  
She’d noticed.  
And he’d notice that she’d noticed.  
He’d squeezed her hand silently – and Inej had squeezed his right back.  
Spring’s chilly breeze had turned into an early summer’s gentle wind as they’d gathered on the porch of Kaz’s house. None of them had wondered about the strangeness of that gathering; none of them had missed their lives back in the city. There, surrounded by trees, the world was remade just for them.  
Jesper hadn’t been able to let go of his child for one moment. Even when Inej had offered to take him for a little while, just so the new parents could rest, Jesper had simply shaken his head, and smiled a tired smile.  
When the little one had been placed on his crib and was finally asleep, they’d decided on a toast.  
They had made speeches, they had laughed. They had bickered with each other, they had congratulated one another. They had remembered past lives that would never truly be forgotten and never truly be done with, but they had celebrated their new ones all the same.  
Jesper had moved to fill Inej’s glass, but she’d simply said, with the impassiveness of a woman trained in the art of lying and scheming: “You can’t drink when you’re pregnant, Jesper.”  
It had been a bomb.  
Wylan had dropped his drink and woken up the baby. Jesper’s chin had hit the floor, a mixture of surprise, indignation, and confusion in his eyes.   
And Kaz – well, Kaz had been sipping his drink, looking as unfazed as Inej.  
“When…when did you know?” Wylan had managed to choke out, rocking the baby in his arms.   
“Before we got back.”  
“And you’re just telling us now?” It had been Jesper.  
“Jes – we were busy.”  
Kaz had looked delighted. Absolutely delighted.  
“I thought the Suli way meant that you had to get married before having children,” Jesper pointed an accusing finger at the two.  
Inej had simply raised her eyebrows slightly. That’s all it took.  
“You got married and you didn’t invite us?” Jesper had placed his hand on the table, while his own husband was still trying to find the words to say. “I invited you two to my wedding.”  
“You invited the whole of Ketterdam and Novyi Zem combined to your wedding,” Kaz had shot back, shrugging.  
“BETRAYAL,” Jesper had bellowed.  
“Inej, Kaz…congratulations, this is…congratulations,” Wylan had blurted out, smiling and grinning as Jesper continued to throw a tantrum.  
“Jesper,” Inej had smiled her gentle smile. “It was not planned to happen this way. Me and Kaz exchanged vows on our own, with my parents as witnesses. We found out a few days later, after I fell ill.”  
Jesper was still sulking at this point. “Nina will kill you, you know. When you tell her this late.”  
“We already told her,” Kaz had said, finishing his drink. “We met her there when we travelled to the Little Palace.”  
“So you told Zenik first that you got married and are having a baby and decided to wait not one day, not two days, but a whole damn week to tell me?! I’m your best friend! And what about letters? Do you two know what those are?!”  
“You’re not my best friend,” Kaz had muttered at same time Inej had said, “It was very sudden, Jesper.” She had a smile on her face still. “We wanted you two to be godparents. Well,” Inej had giggled then. “With Nina co-godparenting, of course. She would not forgive me if I let her out of this.”  
“Do you honestly think that after all you have hidden from me-”  
“We would love that,” Wylan had said with bright eyes, shoving his husband out of the way, cuddling his child to his chest. “I’m so happy for you too, this is amazing news!”  
“Fine,” Jesper had said. “Guess I’ll have to agree to it now.”  
Inej had grinned widely. “Thank you, Wy. Thank you, Jes.”  
“Come here, Wraith,” Jesper had said, smiling at last. He’d laughed then when he hugged Inej, and laughed harder as he said, “I didn’t even know you guys were doing the dirty.”  
“Watch it,” Kaz had snarled.  
“Oh, Jesper,” Inej had snorted a laugh.  
“Jes,” Wylan had scolded.  
And their baby had cried.  
And they had celebrated.  
And life, for the first time, was truly perfect.  
School had been terribly difficult.  
His nervousness around other people hadn’t obviously helped, and despite it being a very small school that only the village children attended, he had never been good with crowds. They made his lungs struggle for air, and had his heart racing so fast that Alf once thought he was really going to die. The more he tried to keep up with the other children, the more he felt like he’d fall right behind.  
She had been the same – but that hadn’t bothered her.  
“I don’t need friends,” she’d told him once, shrugging. “I have you, Alf.”  
People wouldn’t approach them at first, but for different reasons entirely: he was easy to pick on, so no one found him worthy of such attention, and she…  
Well – everyone had been afraid of her.  
It hadn’t been for any reason in particular, at least in the first year. She had never been violent, never had been too quiet or too loud. Never would she treat anyone with anything less than a smile and a kind word to go along with it – unless people deserved otherwise.  
And those children, that day – they’d deserved otherwise.  
Even as small as she was, she’d faced those older kids with the bravery of a lion, standing tall and straight like her mother had taught her, and her jaw set tight and eyes fierce, like his father had taught her.  
When she’d arrived home that day with bruises on her arms, her father had practically ran to her. She’d told them the truth, including the broken arm of one of the girls. She hadn’t realized it at that moment – but her father had been trembling with rage, watching the purple circles on her daughter’s arm with such a tremendous anger that her mother had to pick her up from her father’s embrace. He’d left the room.   
When her mother had asked, she’d simply said, “They were mean children, mama. We can’t be mean to each other.”  
“My love, you cannot fight fire with fire.” But her mother would not scold her daughter for defending herself.  
“I know, mama. I would have used my words if they had used theirs.”  
She had always said things like that. Things that usually left her parents open-mouthed, staring at her in awe. Lizabeta had her mother’s sensibility and her father’s cruel understanding of life, despite the loving environment she’d grown up in. And even if she was covered in bruises, Inej found herself blinking back tears for a whole other reason.  
“You are very wise girl, Lizabeta,” her mother had whispered to her. “They will never pick on you again.”  
“I know they won’t, mama,” Lizabeta had said. “Is papa alright?”  
“He’s fine, my love.”  
“He looked very upset,” she’d frowned, ever the observant girl. “Maybe I should give him a hug?”  
“Let’s not disturb him now, flower,” Inej had said, kissing her daughter’s temple, almost hearing Kaz’s deep breaths from the other room. Her mother had said then, “These will heal very soon,” she’d said softly, rubbing a delicate thumb over her daughter’s arm.  
“Yes,” Lizabeta had smiled, one of her front teeth missing. “Healing is part of life, after all. So is getting hurt.”  
She only saw her father when she went to bed. Lizabeta had watched her mother touch his arm on the door of her bedroom, and whisper a few things to him Lizabeta hadn’t been able to hear, no matter how much she’d tried. She had only been able to see her father’s nod, and the tired look he’d given her mother. She’d watched from her bed as her father kissed her mother’s forehead, the way he always did whenever they were saying goodnight.  
“Hello, treasure,” her father had said, sitting down on the bed. He’d pulled her covers up, tucking her in, keeping in the warmth.  
“Are you alright, papa?”  
“I’m fine, flower,” he’d responded, not looking fine at all. “I was very upset about what happened to you.”  
“You don’t have to be, papa,” Lizabeta had said, touching his hand gently. “You don’t have to be angry at them.”  
“I am very angry,” Kaz had said, his tone gentle, controlled, entwining his fingers with hers.   
And because she was his daughter, and because she was terribly smart for her age, Lizabeta had said, “Will they be coming to school tomorrow?”  
“No, Liza.”  
“Did you talk to our principal to get them expelled?”  
“Yes.”  
Liza had made a face. “Papa, did you threaten poor Mr Hunt?”  
At that, Kaz had to laugh. One, because Inej was truly right – her daughter did have his frown. And two, because Liza was able to pick up things with the snap of her fingers, and put stories and life details into place as quick as she would blink.   
“I didn’t have to, Liza,” Kaz had said. “They deserve to be expelled.”  
“The punishment would have been much worse if they’d seen me everyday because it would serve as a reminder,” Lizabeta had sighed. She’d switched to Suli then, as she often did when she was irritated, “You truly do not think, papa.”  
“You,” Kaz had said, in very bad-accented Suli, “are taking after your mother too much.”  
Lizabeta had smiled when her father booped her nose, and pushed his hand away gently.   
Kaz’s smile had softened then, as he took in the dark hair, that curled around her temples like her mother’s, and the brown eyes – the brown eyes that Inej had. He murmured to her, “You did very well today. I want you to know that.”  
“I know,” Liza had said. “Mama doesn’t want me to use violence, and I understand. But this time-”  
“This time you did well. Never let people walk over you, treasure. No matter what. If this is what it took, then be it.”  
“You are everything to me,” he’d said, kissing the purple bruise on her arm. “And I know you can take care of yourself. But I will never let anybody hurt you, Lizabeta.”  
She’d smiled, bright and sleepy, not being able to control her yawn.   
“Time for bed,” Kaz had said, tucking her back in  
“Papa?”  
“Yes, treasure?”  
She’d simply smiled then, and when she’d pulled her hand out from underneath the covers, Kaz saw his watch glint in the candlelight, right between her fingers.  
He’d taken it back.  
“Well done,” he’d said, grinning. “Don’t do that to your mother, though.”  
“I know, I know the rules,” she’d yawned. “Not to do it to anyone but you. Can you show me more tomorrow, papa?”  
“We’ll see.”  
“Oh, please!”  
“Sleep then,” Kaz had said. “And tomorrow will come faster.”  
She still had a pout on her face when she’d closed her eyes, but Kaz smiled, despite his surprise, and said, “Goodnight, treasure.”  
“Goodnight, papa.”  
Lizabeta hadn’t heard the conversation that followed outside her door, for sleep had taken over her in a few seconds time, but when Kaz moved silently out of his daughter’s room, Inej had been standing in the hall, listening.  
Kaz was still grinning. “She took my watch.”  
“You look proud,” Inej had grinned right back.  
“Is it wrong?”  
“She knows not to do it to anybody else,” Inej had said, shrugging. “She’s a smart girl.”  
“We did well, me and you, Wraith.”  
Inej had smiled, nodding thoughtfully. “We did, Kaz,” she’d whispered. “We really did.”  
Her smile stayed with him always, as they grew up. And she was always smiling. Lizabeta faced the world with teeth clenched and fists at the ready, with a kind, open heart but a sharp eye at the same time. And Alf didn’t realize it for a long, long time, but that side of her – that side of her had been one of the things that had made him fall irrevocably in love with her.  
He knew, soon enough – he’d made a list.

YEARS LATER

“So, what will you do?” He asks her one afternoon as she lays her head on his lap, her eyes squinting as they meet the bright blue sky. Her hands are cold, and she puts them in the pockets of her coat, but her face is covered in sunlight. She looks golden. “After school, I mean.”  
They’ve never talked about it before, and he feels silly for asking, for they still have one more year until they finish their studies.  
She takes a while to answer, and Alf mistakes her silence for doubt. He doesn’t immediately think she’s just taking a long time to decide between all the things her heart craves. Eventually, she says to him, “I want to see the things I have not yet seen and feel the things I have not yet felt.”  
“Cryptic Suli proverbs are fun and everything, but please speak the same language as me.”  
She laughs, and he marvels at the way her eyes catch the sun rays, turning into melted gold. “I want to do so many things. Travel. Meet people. See everything.”  
“You can,” he tells her.  
She stays quiet.  
“But you also want to stay.”  
He knows because he’s the same way. They are open-hearted people with thick roots underneath their feet. Wanting to spread their wings but feeling as if the world they know now and love will not exist anymore when they come back.  
“We still have one year,” she murmurs.  
“Yeah,” Alf says, as he falls in love. “We still have one year.”  
***  
“Lizabeta, please just…get down.”  
He’s been saying that for the past fifteen minutes, and she grins at him the way she always does – wildly, dangerously. Even though his heart is panicking and his mind his panicking and his whole being is panicking.  
“Do you honestly believe I’ll fall?” She asks, feet firmly planted on a very thin rope attached between two trees, the rope her mother uses to practice on every now and then. “You have zero trust in me.”  
From his sitting position, Alf jolts everytime she checks her balance or everytime her feet wobble too much to one side.  
“Why do you always want to do this when I’m around?” He complains.   
“Because I like showing off,” she winks. “And because I want you to tell me if I’ve gotten better or not.”  
“I don’t know a thing about acrobatics,” he says, crossing his arms. “Your father doesn’t want you doing this on your own, Liza.”  
“Papa worries too much,” she waves a careless hand, her posture perfect, her eyes on the horizon. “Besides, I’m not on my own – I’m with you.”  
He’s about to open his mouth to tell her that if anything happens to her, her father will undoubtedly skin him alive and throw whatever’s left of him to the dogs, when Lizabeta takes a step – and misses.  
Two seconds:  
He doesn’t know where his sudden reflexes come from, but in less than a blink of an eye, Alf is standing up and running towards her, watching her body fall back onto the tall grass, her head aiming for the hard ground-  
Just two seconds pass. And then her feet hit the ground, and her arms spread wide, keeping her balance, and he’s so relieved he almost falls to his knees.  
She laughs. That old same laugh that always makes him want to believe the world is made of beautiful, exciting things. Right now, however, he’s breathless and dizzy from panic, and his heart is not settling down. Not even as he takes her in, fine and unscratched, not even a blush to her cheeks to reveal any tiredness or affliction.  
Alf suddenly feels as if the world might tip over.  
“Your face,” Lizabeta continues to laugh. “Alf…honestly…will you fall for that everytime? It’s part of the show-”  
“Are you serious,” he mutters, breathless.  
“You-you just…” she closes her eyes, laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach and wheezing. “That was so-”  
“That wasn’t funny.”  
She stops. Her laughter fades as she looks at him.  
“You scared the shit out of me, Liza,” he tells her, suddenly angry, his vision clearing. His lungs can’t take enough air. He cannot stay still. “It wasn’t funny when we were kids and it’s not funny now. You could really get hurt, and what would I do-”  
“Alf, hey,” Liza says, wide-eyed and gently touching his arms. “Calm down, I’m fine.”  
He pulls her away, breathing as slowly as he can. “You just…you don’t get it.”  
“Get what?”  
“How it feels,” he barked. “You think it’s funny almost giving me a heart attack? Try living with feeling like this every gods-damned day.”  
“Alf, I didn’t think-”  
“You never think.”  
Her mouth stays shut. Her eyes are suddenly shadowed, and she’s staring at him as if she wants to show him a well-contained frown. Her silence somehow infuriates him further, and Alf is rambling on, and he can’t stop, he can’t-  
“You own the world, Liza, but some of us find it terrifying. Every little thing. You know how hard it is for me. And putting yourself in danger-”  
“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, almost barking the world herself.   
They stand there in silence, until she continues, her tone softer, “You’re right, I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to make you panic. And no, I don’t know what it feels like. But you’ve never acted like this.”  
It comes back to him, the way he’d spoken to her. The possibility that he might’ve hurt her right back. He’s ashamed, and can only look at his feet.  
“Alf?” She comes closer to him, and his whole body freezes. “What’s wrong with you today? Did something happen?”  
He swallows, wanting nothing else in the world but to put those strands that always hang unceremoniously over her face and that hide her eyes from him over her ear, wanting nothing else but to lean down and-  
Alf ends up shaking his head. “Come on,” he says to her, gesturing with his head, body turning to walk to her house. “It’s almost nightfall, your mother wants you back.”  
He waits for her to argue, but Lizabeta simply follows him, one or two steps behind. They’re silent now, and the crickets can be heard a few paces away from them, surrounding the oak trees and making music in the green grasses of the farm.  
Alf expects it when he feels her hands at his shoulders, and when she jumps onto his back, so his hands are ready to catch her and wrap under her knees. Even at sixteen, she’s small, and he’s much bigger than her, so he carries her easily.  
But Alf wishes she wouldn’t do that anymore, for she doesn’t know what it does to his heart. Though he refuses to push her away. It’s a tender gesture like any other. It’s another apology, like the one from before. It’s the way that she knows to make him feel better.  
He used to mock her about it, years before – how she always jumped onto his back whenever he was mad at her. It was because she knew he couldn’t stay mad at her for long, if she acted like the child of a monkey and a sloth, she used to say to him. And he’d laugh, and any leftover irritation from whatever argument they were having was gone.  
Just like now.  
Lizabeta buries her face on his neck as he walks, her arms slowly wrapping around his neck. She surprises him by letting her hand drag down to his heart, and it stays there, underneath his shirt, skin to skin.  
“I’m sorry,” she says again.  
“I know,” he says. “Sorry for being mean.”  
“You’re not mean, you were right.”  
“You’re reckless, and I like you reckless. It’s just sometimes I wish you would take into account that I might faint if you go too far,” he grins, making the words lighter.  
“You like me reckless?” She scoffs. “If I wasn’t reckless, you wouldn’t like me?”  
Alf shakes his head. Absurd, is what she is. Completely delusional. “I would like you in any universe, Lizabeta. In any reality.”  
She stays quiet, and the nervous part of him is instantly regretting his bluntness. He opens his mouth to ease his words and turn them into something else, when he hears her say:  
“Good.”  
And that’s that.  
He takes her to her door, and Lizabeta slides down. She stares at him when he turns.  
“What?” He asks.  
She smiles. “You look very Fjerdan today.”  
His heart is still beating irregularly fast with the scare she gave him before, and when she smiles up at him like that, he feels as if it might explode on his chest.  
“What do you mean?” He scrunches up his nose.  
And Lizabeta raises a small, delicate hand to trace the shape of his face, the line of his jaw, and then back up again, to pull his hair out of his eyes. All the while she’s staring at him in silence, a quiet, soothing grin spreading on her lips. He’s fallen all over again, down and down onto the ground.  
“You’re sunburnt,” she says, thumb dragging over the upper part of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and his other cheek. He can’t breathe. “Here and here. And pale everywhere else. Even in the winter sun, you still burn.”  
She breathes a laugh, and removes her hand. And he just stares, and she just stares. And he sees every beautiful colour in the world reflected in her eyes.   
“Alf?” Liza murmurs when his words are forgotten.  
He doesn’t know which part of him moves first – his legs, which close to distance between them, or his hands, that touch her waist, and gently press her to the brick of her house. His brain can’t process things fast enough, because all his attention goes to the parting of her lips and the smile that widens, as well as the hands that glide up his arms and stay there.  
“What happens if I kiss you?” The words don’t fit him. This is so unlike him, and yet every fibre of his being burns at how right it feels to hold her like this. Part of him delights in her delight, the happy surprise in her eyes at the words.   
Like this was always supposed to happen, like they were just counting days and hours and seconds until one of them broke and crossed that line. Alf just didn’t realize that he’d be the one brave enough to do it.  
“I might let you,” Liza says, looking up at him. “And every person in that school, in the world, might hate me for it.”  
“Why?” He breathes, so close to her.  
“Because you want me and not them.”  
“There’s only ever been you,” he says, her caress on his cheek familiar. Alf feels as if he could run his fingers through her hair and not be at all different from before. Like this type of love was always meant to be, and the transition was as easy as breathing to them. “You know that.”  
“Why did you take so long?” Her hands trace the lapels of his jacket, her touch ever so tender.   
“Everytime I thought about kissing you I felt like I was going to die just from that thought alone,” he admits, scoffing a nervous laugh.   
“And now?”  
“I’m absolutely terrified.”  
“Why?” Liza says, circling her arms around his middle, somehow pulling him closer. It’s like everytime they hugged, everytime she jumped on his back. And yet totally different. “It’s me.”  
“That’s the exact reason.”  
“Get me off that pedestal, Alf. I don’t deserve to be put up so high.”  
He shakes his head, and can’t think of anything else to say, to do. He wants to say so much, and do so much, and everything is confusing and terrifying and he wants to keep this moment in the palm of his hand forever. He wants to grasp it and never let it go.  
“Your eyes are so blue,” she whispers.  
He places a gentle hand on her cheek, delighting in the warmth of her skin, her softness. All of her – everything about her is soft, gentle as summer.   
“How is it,” he begins, daring to run a thumb over the contour of her bottom lip. Her eyes flutter, and his heart flutters right back. “That you scare the living daylights out of me, and make me feel like the bravest man in the world at the same time?”  
“You’ve been struggling with that for seventeen years?” She cracks a smile, and he can’t help but follow suit.  
“I have,” he says. “You should get a scolding for all the torture you’ve put me through.”  
“As if you’ve been a saint,” she raises a dark eyebrow.  
“What have I done?” His smile is cheerful, and it hurts his cheeks.  
“Do you think it was easy to see every person lust after you? Hearing every conversation mention your ‘beautiful blond hair’ and ‘oh so beautiful blue eyes like I could totally drown in them, oh my saints’.”  
He scoffs a laugh at her terrible impressions, shaking his head once more. “That’s not true.”  
“It is,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I just didn’t tell you because I was jealous and feeling petty.”  
“Jealous? You?”  
“Very much so, actually.”  
“What about me?” He removes his hand from her cheek, only to place it on the brick, right beside her head. “You think everybody wanted me? Lizabeta, they were looking at you.”  
“You are ridiculous,” she says. “Also, I never stopped you.”  
“I never stopped you.”  
They stare at each other, with smiles and pink cheeks, and breaths mingling.  
She says, “I was scared, too.”  
“Why? It’s only just me,” he shoots back, grinning.  
“You call my father uncle,” Lizabeta says, her voice becoming small. “I thought you saw me as…well, not as this.”  
“I see you as this.”  
“Good to know,” she breathes a laugh, and her sudden nervousness makes him inch forward. She clears her throat, searching his eyes. “Will you kiss me now?”  
“Do you want me to?”  
She nods, her gaze going between his eyes and his lips.  
“I should warn you,” he says, touching his forehead with hers. And the small, sweet gesture somehow eases him, it settles his heart down. This is what they know. This is familiar territory for them. “I haven’t had much practice.”  
“I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of practice kissing your hand, and all.”  
“You’re ruining the moment, Liza,” he smiles.  
“Kiss me. It’s going to rain,” she says.  
“Let it pour,” he smiles wider. And before his brain has a chance to think it through and doubt and panic, Alf leans down, and takes her lips.  
She’s warmer than he expected, despite the chill that envelops them. At the first touch of his lips on hers, he loses his mind.  
He might’ve let himself imagine it once or twice, or a thousand times. And he would’ve never expected a kiss to hit him like this. But it does. She does.   
Alf pulls away only for a few moments, regaining himself and his grip on this world. With a soft chuckle he realizes she’s on her tiptoes.  
“Who asked you to be so damn tall?” She whispers, narrowing her eyes.  
And he has to kiss her again.  
The afternoon sun slips away, and rain takes its place. It pours right down, without a second’s pause, and instead of pulling away, Lizabeta pushes him closer so they’re both underneath the roof tiles. She’s pressed him against her, and it takes his breath away. They’re so close, attempting to keep in the warmth, to keep out the rain.  
When she pulls away to breathe, her eyes turn skywards, watching the rain as he traps her between himself and the wall.  
She chuckles suddenly.  
“Am I that bad?”  
She shakes her head, points at the sky. “It’s like every saint is mad at us. It was sunny two seconds ago.”  
“A fjerdan and a suli girl? Oh, they won’t like that one bit.”  
“You’re half-ravkan,” she shrugs. “Maybe they’ll forgive me for wanting a fjerdan.”  
He snorts a laugh, touching her chin. Lizabeta’s smile softens, going from playful to tender, as she looks up at him. She lifts herself up on her tiptoes again, and places a sweet, lingering peck on the centre of his lips. And another. She takes his chin, turns his face slightly to the side, and kisses his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his eyelid. Patient kisses, small and wonderful, and he’s died and come back to life ten times over the past few seconds.  
After that, she stares up at him. Says, very softly, “Aunt Nina was right after all.”  
Alf’s eyebrows quirk up. “About what?”  
Liza shrugs, and her arms coming to wrap around his middle once more, underneath his jacket, stealing his warmth. She nuzzles her face into his chest. “About love. It’s not as bad as it seems.”  
***

“Alf?”  
Wylan stares at his son as he closes the entrance door behind him, his eyes glazed over, a strange smile on his lips. When he doesn’t respond, Wylan looks over at Jesper – but his husband has already fallen asleep, his mouth hanging open and his head resting on the arm of the couch.  
“Son?” Wylan attempts once more.  
And when Alf just simply stands there, his back against the door, his eyes focused on empty space, Wylan elbows Jesper in the ribs.  
“W-What?” Jesper mutters, sitting up abruptly, blinking his sleep away. He looks at his husband, frowning. “What did you wake me for, Wy-”  
Wylan inclines his head towards his son, and Jesper stares.  
“Hi, Alf,” Jesper says, giving Wylan a look. “How was your day?”  
No answer.  
Wylan and Jesper share a puzzled look.  
Until their son walks towards them, kisses both their cheeks, and makes his way to the piano in the corner of the living room.  
“It’s raining,” Alf smiles, looking dazed.  
“Sure is,” Jesper says, confused.  
“You’re going to practise now?” Wylan says, equally as confused.  
“I’ve written a song, dad.”  
“Oh,” Wylan says, as his son starts to play. He looks for a music sheet and sees none. “And...where is it?”  
“In my head,” Alf grins.  
Jesper huffs, draping one arm over his eyes. “You were the one that encouraged him to be a pianist, deal with it.”  
“He’s also your son.”  
“Son, you alright?”  
“Never been better, dad.” Alf cheerfully says as he plays.  
Jesper grins. “See? He’s fine.”  
When they’re off to sleep, Wylan cuddles closer to Jesper, and murmurs, “Did you hear his song?”  
“It was beautiful,” Jesper notes. “You taught him well.”  
“I don’t mean only that,” Wylan says. “I mean – did you hear it?”  
Jesper smiles in the darkness, kissing his husband’s forehead, slightly amused. “Wy, you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”  
“The way he played…” Wylan murmurs. “He’s in love.”  
Jesper is silent for a long time, and then he murmurs back, “You’re worried?”  
It’s Wylan’s turn to be silent. When an answer doesn’t come, Jesper pulls him closer, and says, “You know she wouldn’t hurt him.”   
“I know,” Wylan says slowly. “Lizabeta is…”  
“She’s Kaz,” Jesper snorts.  
“But she’s also kind and would do anything for him.”  
Jesper looks down at Wylan, tracing the contours of his cheek with his thumb. “Then why are you so worried about our son?”  
“I’m not sure,” Wylan says. “They’re…so young.”  
“You were the same age when you met me, merchling,” Jesper muses, kissing the tip of his husband’s nose. “Do I need to remind you how happy I’ve made you?” Hum?”  
Wylan cracks a smile, welcoming Jesper’s kiss. He wraps his arm around Jesper, pulling him closer. He murmurs against his lips, “Still.”  
“He’ll be fine,” Jesper reassures him, giving Wylan one more kiss. “He’s practically you.”  
“I know,” Wylan sighs.   
Silence.  
Seconds later, Wylan mutters, “You know he’s left through his window to go to her now, right?”  
“He definitely did,” Jesper huffs a laugh. “Now that’s me.”  
“He’ll be fine, won’t he?”  
Jesper snuggles closer to Wylan, arms enveloping his smaller frame and pushing him against his chest. “He will, Wy.” And then, moments later, when Wylan is beginning to fall asleep, he hears Jesper mutter, “Thank the saints you didn’t teach him to play the flute.”

 

She finds him in their daughter’s room, staring out the window into the pitch black night. He’s already in his sleepwear, though there is no part of her husband that looks tired or rundown, despite the day’s events and all the travelling he’s been doing lately.  
Inej knows he hears her approach, as silent as she is, but does not turn. Their daughter’s bed is unmade, her window closed shut. Out and in, like a ghost.   
“Sometimes I worry she takes after you too much,” Kaz softly says, a playful hint to his words.  
Inej snuggles against his side, watching his face lightened by the moonlight. One arm wraps around his middle, and Kaz pulls her closer, letting his lips linger on her temple. His eyes, however, stay glued to the night beyond.  
“She’s alright, Kaz.”  
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know.”  
“Then come to bed.”  
“Just one second,” he says, and Inej lets him have that second.  
She sees a thousand memories playing through his mind as she looks up at him; a thousand moments he’s saved for nights like these.  
“Do you remember the look in her eyes whenever I showed her a trick?” Kaz whispers, pulling his wife closer. “Do you remember how she used to run to me whenever I got home? And her laugh, when I walked around the house with her on my shoulders?”  
“She’s still your daughter, love.”  
“It just feels odd not being needed.”  
“What are you talking about, Kaz?” Inej says. “She still needs you. One way or the other, she still clings to you out of everyone else. Even me.”  
He stays silent for a few moments, before turning to his wife. “I miss my little girl sometimes.”  
Inej’s heart shatters as she takes her husband’s face between her hands. “I know,” she says, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “I miss her too.”  
“My greatest joy is watching her grow up and become the woman that she is,” Kaz continues, swallowing hard. “And yet-”  
“I understand,” Inej says. “And yet – she still refuses to call you anything else other than papa.”  
Kaz smiles at that – he has to, for the memories are too sweet not to smile at them. “I’m endlessly proud of her, Inej. Of us.”  
“I am too,” Inej wraps her arms around him. “I am too, Kaz.”  
“I promised you that you would never find happiness with me once, remember?” Kaz says, his face buried in her neck, his lips touching her skin as he speaks.   
“It is everything you have given me.”  
“Curious – how everything changes.” Kaz says, and smiles when he pulls away from her.   
“Yes,” Inej says, touching a piece of his hair, and pushing it backwards gently. Kaz closes his eyes at the gesture. Inej’s eyes trace a few grey pieces at the front, and she smiles wider.  
“A wonderful life,” she murmurs – what had once been a part of their vows.  
“A life worth living,” Kaz completes, and takes her hand.  
A perfect life, indeed.  
***  
“I want to perform,” she tells him one day, months later, in the summer. Her head rests on his lap. “I want to be an acrobat.”  
“You can,” Alf tells her.  
“And travel the world,” Liza adds.  
“You will,” he tells her.  
“Will you come with me?” Lizabeta looks up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Will you perform with me?”  
The tall grass tickles his bare arms as he curves down, touching his nose to hers. She smiles, and he smiles, and he feels like the world is made of sunshine all year round.  
“A pianist and an acrobat? What a pair we make.”  
“I want to take over my father’s club too.”  
“You can do it all, sweetheart,” he says. “Anything you want.”  
When he sits up, she turns. A hand on his chest pushes him down onto the grass, and he chuckles when she leans over him, her dark hair tickling his cheeks.  
“You can also do anything you want, Alf,” she grins. “Do you want to do it with me?”  
He nods, touching her cheeks, his eyes searching her brown ones.  
“I have so many dreams,” he says. “And all of them include you.”  
When she lays down next to him, a hand on his heart, he says, “You look very happy with that.”  
“Well, I am,” she throws back, grinning widely. “You make me very happy.”  
“Oh, do I?”  
“Do you still doubt it?” She asks.  
Alf leans up on one elbow, watching the shadows of the leaves make patterns on her face. He pulls her hair away from her face, letting the back of his finger caress his cheek in the process, and murmurs, “No. I don’t doubt it at all.”  
She smiles. That same old smile, beautiful and wild, that always stayed with him.  
“You know,” she begins, absentmindedly tracing circles on his arm. “I used to look at my parents and wonder how could there ever be two people who loved each other that much. Also with uncle Wylan and uncle Jesper.” Her eyes follow the line of his shirt, his collarbones and arms, her gaze distant. “That amount of love didn’t seem real. I didn’t believe it for a long time. At least – I didn’t believe that such a thing was ever planned for me.”  
He stayed quiet, watching her speak, almost mesmerized.  
Lizabeta said, “And then one day I looked at you, and I thought I would never ever be the same again.”  
“Am I what you expected?” He asks.  
“You’re more,” she says. “So much more.”  
He grins, and she grins. Alf leans down, touches his lips to hers just once, before saying, “I love you, sweetheart.”  
Liza kisses him once, twice, and a third time. A forth time, when he’s not expecting, just to see that surprised smile spreading across his lips, that blush covering his cheeks. She says, “I love you more.”  
“It’s not a competition, Liza.”  
“Isn’t it?” She smirks. “We know that if it was, I would win.”  
“Who’s underestimating who, now?” He quirks an eyebrow.  
“Still you, sweetheart.”  
She laughs softly when he rolls his eyes at her, and instead of teasing him further, Liza touches his cheeks, and leans him down for a long, gentle kiss that might’ve lasted two whole eternities – maybe it could’ve lasted a thousand, and they wouldn’t have noticed the passage of time.  
“You tear me to shreds when you kiss me like that,” he breathes against his lips, eyes still closed, smiling like a fool.  
“Be prepared to be ripped apart for the rest of your life.”  
“Are you proposing to me?” He chuckles.  
“I might,” she grins. “What do I get out of it?”  
“Well…” he kisses her once on her lips, then drags his mouth to the shell of her ear. “You get a handsome fjerdan out of it, for one.”  
“Meh, pass.”  
“Fine,” he says, kissing her jawline next. “You get a variety of kisses every single day, unlimited stock, and you get to pick.”  
“Which ones or where you kiss me?”  
“You pick everything,” he touches his nose to hers. “Oh, and I forgot the best part.”   
She raises her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “What’s that?”  
“Piggy back rides forever,” he says, eyes very wide.  
“Alright, I’m sold,” she announces, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, intending on never letting go.   
“Thought you’d be,” he winks, pecking her lips. “Isn’t that a good life?”  
“A brilliant one,” she says, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his chin. “That sounds like a plan, fjerdan.”  
“It does,” he breathes. “It really does.”  
He kisses her again, and despite the summer storm that’s approaching, they do not move.   
“Alf,” she murmurs between slow kisses.  
“Yes.”  
“Do you know what I really feel like doing now?” She says, hands trailing down his chest, a gentle caress.  
“Tell me,” he says, burying his face on her neck, breathing in her scent. He prepares to trail kisses down her throat, his hands toying with her hair.  
She smiles an evil smile, and says against his ear, “Walk on that tightrope.”  
Alf rolls away, letting his back rest on the grass. He drapes an arm over his eyes, and groans. And yet he smiles.  
A lifetime of this.  
That’s all he has on his list.  
THE END.


End file.
